


World of Unknowing

by HotGoatCheese



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Amputation, Blood, Blow Jobs, Chains, Do Not Archive (The Magnus Archives), F/M, Gunplay, Healing Sex, I feel like I should tag for Tim's sense of humor but it's probably unnecessary, Implied Harm to Children, Incest, Knifeplay, M/M, Magical Healing Cock, Multi, No Lube, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Painful Sex, Sibling Incest, Skinned Person, Suicidal Thoughts, Villain Character Death, Villain Wins AU, losing voice, suicidal behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-07
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-29 13:34:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19401367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HotGoatCheese/pseuds/HotGoatCheese
Summary: It was his fault, of course. The end of the world. He'd had the detonator in hand, prepared to sacrifice his life for the revenge he'd needed for years.  In death, he'd be free of The Institute, of Beholding, and Danny would have some measure of Justice in a world that had even then been fundamentally unjust. That wasn't what Danny had wanted though.  In a moment of weakness, Tim had thought Danny's happiness was worth the world. Strange how the ones who benefited most from that weakness were the ones punishing him for it.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [plutonianshores](https://archiveofourown.org/users/plutonianshores/gifts).



> I'm fairly confident the tagging on this is not comprehensive and that there's a bunch of stuff I didn't tag for. If you read something you think needs to be tagged here LET ME KNOW

The window starts less than a foot off the floor and goes up as far as he can see. At this low angle, Tim knew he shouldn't be able to see much of the streets below. Somehow, he could still see far too much. The world has fallen apart, nothing was right anymore and everyone knew it. No one quite moved like a human anymore, and there was no object that could safely be considered as it seemed. 

It was his fault, of course. The end of the world. He'd had the detonator in hand, prepared to sacrifice his life for the revenge he'd needed for years. In death, he'd be free of The Institute, of Beholding, and Danny would have some measure of Justice in a world that had even then been fundamentally unjust. That wasn't what Danny had wanted though. In a moment of weakness, Tim had thought Danny's happiness was worth the world. Strange how the ones who benefited most from that weakness were the ones punishing him for it. 

"Hey Tim." 

Tim tried to lift his head. The thick metal shackle around his neck caught, chain taut, before he could even see the source of the voice. It was a voice he'd know anywhere though, and maybe it was better he not see what its owner had become. "Hi Danny." 

"Enjoying the view?" it was such a casual question that it made Tim's stomach twist. 

"I think I preferred the old one." 

Danny never use to make that noise. Tim recognized that noise, it was someone holding back a not-nice laugh. "You would. You always were the boring one." The tone was light, teasing. Tim could almost ignore the barb in it, it was so familiar. 

A real smile made an attempt to slip onto his face as he countered, "I'm not the boring one, I'm the funny one." Danny laughed. It was Danny's laugh, except that it wasn't. The spark, the warmth that had always characterized Tim's little brother, was completely gone. Tim retreated into a heavier sarcasm. "I'd probably be funnier if I weren't chained to the floor like a dog." 

"Well, I think it's a good look on you." And suddenly he was beside Tim. Sitting next to him, hand on his back, tracing the length of his spine. Even through Tim's shirt, his hand felt very wet. "You'll get your sense of humor back. It'll take time, but we'll get you there." 

When Danny's fingers brushed above the collar of Tim's shirt, tracing the back of his neck below the bulky shackle, Tim's skin crawled - as Danny still didn't have any. Bloody tendons slid down his neck and over his shirt again, all the way down his back to his waist. Then it moved slowly up again. "Do you have to do that?" Tim asked. 

The thing pretending to be Danny made a noise of faux offense. "I thought you liked me touching you!" There was a pause, and in that pause - Tim could feel something dangerous. He made no effort to break it though, instead quietly trying to place exactly what danger it was he was sensing. Then he felt an increase in pressure from Danny's hand. The slow drag down his back was accompanied by the gush of Danny's blood trickling down his sides. Then, suddenly, that skinless hand that belonged to the thing with his brother's voice slipped right down to his arse. "Or is it just not enough?" Danny purred, gripping and squeezing an entire cheek. 

"Danny, what the hell?!" Tim demanded. 

Danny laughed again, and it didn't sound so wrong this time. He loosened his grip and pulled back his hand, only to bring it back down in a smack just a little too hard to be playful. Then his hand came back to set between Tim's shoulders. "C'mon, Tim." Danny said, a note of mocking in his voice. "You can't tell me you never thought it. Can't tell me you never even looked." Danny's voice was light, but mocking. Clearly mocking, and the noise Tim made in response wasn't far off from a growl. Danny's hand slid up to the base of Tim's neck, right under the collar, fingers stretching down one side of Tim's neck, palm across so the bloody-bare heal stretched down the other. Then Danny gripped tight, much tighter than necessary. "I mean, the whole devoting your entire life to understanding what happened to me and then avenging my death is -" Danny blew out a breath, and Tim bitterly assumed it was entirely for affect rather then a necessary exhale. "Well, it's certainly the most romantic thing anyone's ever done for me." 

"You were my _brother_!" Tim snapped. Then, lower, harder, his voice as hard as he could make it when he was being held by the scruff like a misbehaving cat, "It's not romantic, just. Family." 

"Mmmhmm," Danny replied, fingertips squeezing the sides of his neck right at the pressure point, an ache there easing from the pressure even as blood flowed down Tim's throat from the contact. "Tell me, have you had _any_ sex in the last, oh... five years? That wasn't at least a little bit actually about me?" Tim startled, trying to turn his head so he could at least glare at the monster that dared to sound like Danny for even suggesting this. Danny just laughed again, high and cold and wrong. "Your little Archivist friend really likes the sound of his own voice, you know? He told me all about your...reputation...around the Institute."

Tim had seen enough of the right kind of movies to know what the correct answer was. He played his role, even managed to sound serious about it. "What are you doing with Jon?" 

"Me, personally?" Danny clarified, then answered "Not much. Nikola's the one having the real fun with him. I'm just...asking about you, mostly. Spent a bit of time trying to get some more of his skin for myself, but Nikola put so much work into it she's been stingy." That was...so much more than Tim had wanted to know. His stomach rolled a little. Maybe he should care more, the fate it seemed his betrayal had left Jon to. He just couldn't though. Not with Danny's hand crawling back down the length of his back, slowly exploring his shoulders, ribs, the muscles stretched over them with a digging sort of pressure that, under any other circumstances, any other hand, would have felt good. "But seriously, Tim," Danny began again, his touch lingering. "You don't have to pretend anymore. The whole world is upside-down. Nobody's going to care that you're in love with me." 

Tim sucked in a breath through his teeth. He felt as though he'd been struck and he wasn't willing to spend much if any time reflecting on why. Instead he just hissed the harshest words he could find in that moment. "You're not Danny." 

"Maybe not." Tim startled at the reply and turned his head to try to look. He regretted it instantly. He could still recognize Danny. Even just exposed tissue and veins, his features were still what one perverse enough to see past that would call handsome. The corners of his mouth were pulled down hard by a considering expression for a long moment. Then it seemed to split suddenly in two and the wide grin sat in that skinless face was on its own the stuff of nightmares. Tim looked away. 

"Maybe I don't know you then," Danny's voice had twisted slightly. There was something sing-song in his words, something reverent. Like how one might pronounce the first line of a hymn they were quoting. Then, all at once the thing calling itself Danny was kneeling in front of Tim. One hand on either side of his face, fingertips pressing up to bury themselves in the hair by Tim's temples, palms resting wetly on his cheeks. "Maybe I need to learn about you all over again." 

Tim nearly gagged from the overpowering smell of somehow still fresh blood. As Danny dragged those hands through Tim's hair, Tim managed to choke out, "Isn't not knowing your kind's whole thing?" he had to cough once, which irritated the place his throat bumped against the shackle. "I Do Not Know You, another name for The Stranger, yeah?" 

"What can I say?" Danny let go, just crouching there a moment. "You're family." Then he reached back, into the blood-crusted pocket of the dress jeans he was wearing and pulled a large pocket knife. The wave of fear was reflexive. It passed in a moment, replaced by the dull hope this might be his actual end. Then, as Danny stood, he added, "I can break the rules for family." 

Tim didn't mean to shout. He'd expected the cut, tried to brace for it. Still when the blade bit into the spot at the base of his neck right where his shoulder curved around to his back Tim reacted with a startled scream. He held in any other sounds he might make as the little blade sliced back, through the collar of his shirt and along the edge of his shoulder, down his side just forward of his back. His shirt cut like so much butter and his skin just as easily.

The knife stopped a moment at his hip, and a hand slid down his arse and between his legs. He tried to close them, pull his thighs together hard and crush the intruding hand but the effort reminded him that his neck was not the only place he was bound. The thick wire just below each knee was loose enough to forget it was there, but sturdy enough to keep his entire leg in place despite the effort. So suddenly Danny was palming at his crotch. 

Tim collapsed. Partly deliberately, partly due to being simply overwhelmed. He buried his face in his arms and let his body shake as if he were sobbing. He wasn't. His throat burned but there was nothing there. The same of his eyes. Danny only pawed at him for a few moments, long enough that the stimulation did its work. Tim wasn't left with exactly a raging boner, but he certainly wasn't entirely soft anymore and that was...that was unacceptable. 

Especially when the blade bit into his hip and sliced through his trouser leg and pants, right through the top layers of skin. He didn't yell again, just hissed into his arm. Then Danny seemed gone for a moment that was too long to not have a small swell of hope start in his chest. Tim wasn't even sure what he was hoping for, but it was dashed all the same when he felt the blade at his other shoulder, tracing down that side as well. Cutting into him, cutting his shirt right off of him. The front of the shirt fell so the sleeves bunched around his wrists and for a second he couldn't feel Danny's touch. This time he knew better than to hope. 

"Danny, no." He hated the way his voice sounded. The unmistakable note of begging. Already. Well, if he'd gone that far - "...Please." Danny just made a little noise, a soft sort of hum. He pulled on the side of Tim's trousers, tugging the fabric aside and leaving all but the one leg bare. Then that wet, uncovered hand closed around Tim's cock and the sound that escaped Tim's throat, to his horror, was not all despair. 

"There we go." Danny said, giving steady, even strokes. Tim gasped a little and tried to just breathe. To ignore him. Everything about this was wrong and all he could do was hope it would stop. Then it stopped. Danny's hand was gone and Tim wanted to look around, to find out if it was over or just another delay. He couldn't hear Danny. No breathing, no movement, it was as if no one was there despite the very physical evidence he was. Then the knife cut into his other hip and the last of his trousers and pants were slashed away along with a reasonable helping of skin. The pause lent enough surprise that Tim cried out again and Danny laughed. A manic sort of sound, like the villain on a children's program. "There. Now I can see everything." 

The hand ran over his bare skin now, peeling away the back of his shirt and just...touching. Bloody hands wandering Tim's bare back and arse, fingertips tracing the new deep cuts in his sides and making him hiss into his sleeve before finally, "You're not Danny." He'd say it as many times as he needed to. He'd say it until this Thing confessed it. 

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" The being responded. Then, keeping one hand on him, tracing up to his injured shoulder and then crouching in front of him again. Tim kept his head down. "Your innocent baby brother, _spared_ all this horror by a premature death. Something else wearing his...well." He laughed and Tim choked slightly, lifting his head to breathe easier but keeping his eyes down. "Something you could hate." Danny finished; and it was Danny. That was the worst part of all of this. The best and the worst, and suddenly Danny was touching the underside of his chin. A gentle tug, a universal gesture. 

Tim looked at him, as the silent request, and even lacking skin, just like when he'd made the deal that condemned the universe, Tim saw Danny. "Why then?" he demanded bitterly. "Why do this, why...side with the...the things that took your life away?" 

"What life?" Danny asked, and Tim felt something like the last bit of hope draining from him. Or maybe that was just blood through the deep cuts along his whole body. "Tim - you didn't think I was like that, always on to the next project, the next idea, the next _obsession_ because I was _happy_ , did you?" 

"Danny..." Tim answered weakly. 

Danny barked a laugh, and for all its sudden anger it was the most human sound he'd made yet. "You did, didn't you? You thought I liked...bouncing from interest to interest, never settling never able to...devote myself to anything. Or anyone. This is different, Tim. I helped change the world. I started out as a victim and I became a _Master_ , I've worked my way up and you want to know what, Tim?" He leaned in close. Too close. His breath smelled of plastic and antiseptic. "I'm not bored!" Another laugh, this one manic again, and short, as both hands came back to Tim's face and caught him, holding him still as he pressed the edge of his mouth, where lips ought to be, to Tim's. It was hard, and Tim tasted blood. Then the pathetic attempt at a kiss ended and Danny added, enthusiastically, "I have some skin, you know. I still like wearing clothes so you haven't seen it. It's not mine, of course. Nikola gave it to me as a reward for getting you on our side." 

"I am NOT," Tim snapped suddenly, "On your side!" 

"Sure you are, Tim!" Danny answered, cheerfully. "You just don't realize it yet. You'll be one of us soon enough though. After all..." he smirked, an expression that did not suit the mask of uncovered flesh. Not that any expression would. "You gave us the world." Of course. It came back to that, didn't it? It would always come back to that. For the rest of his life. Longer, Tim realized, was entirely feasible. He was the traitor. He'd handed over the world willingly because he thought he wanted this. It didn't matter what Danny had become, Tim just wanted his brother back. And now that brother shrieked in delight, and there could have been no cause for it other than some visible evidence of how his words had resonated. "Oh, I'm tempted to just leave you with that, but I think you want to see my skin. Don't you want to see my skin? It's brand new. Well, New to me." Then, all at once, he stripped down. Tim had barely even acknowledged Danny was wearing clothes until just as suddenly he wasn't. 

The skin wasn't under Danny's shirt. His muscles and tendons were every bit as exposed there as in his face and hands. It wasn't on his legs either. No, the skin he wore was a pale cream, stretched from his hips inward, and down. The staples that held it in place ran the width of his lower abdomen and... his dick was fully covered. Balls too, although the whole area was disturbingly hairless. It was just skin, but it was skin that, if he focused for a moment, made for a comparatively normal-looking erection. 

Maybe it wasn't normal to be able to identify your brother's dick on sight. Tim could tell himself it was because they'd compared sizes as teens and young adults and he had a good memory. He could tell himself that, and so he did. It didn't make the fact that he could easily recall: "It's the wrong shade. You were tanner, even here." 

"Well, yes, I said it's not mine!" Danny laughed. One blood-leaking hand curled around Tim's face again, the other around Danny's cock. Danny stroked himself a moment, and then made a pleased, rumbling noise in the back of his throat. "You want it though?" 

"No," Tim answered, flatly. 

Danny scoffed. "You don't have to lie to me, we've been over this. Bet you fantasized about this all the time -" 

"Even if I did," Tim relented, a little, just a little, no confession just a hypothetical, "Those fantasies certainly wouldn't have involved me being chained to the floor." A hopeful look, not quite pleading, but the request was obvious. 

Danny sobered a little, then, "Sorry, Tim. I want you free from that collar too. I mean, it's a good look on you, sure, but I get where you're coming from. I do. It's just...last time you had full mobility, you tried to kill us all. So you understand Nikola's caution."

"I handed over the detonator!" Tim protested. "Doesn't that earn some trust?" 

"Mmmmm," Danny considered. "Enough to keep you alive." He paused, then added, "But, Tim, don't think I haven't realized. If you were free, if you had even the slightest hope of leverage, you'd kill me, wouldn't you?" 

Tim fell silent, and the question wrenched at something inside him. He couldn't answer. There was no answer. Of course he would - he would never - that wasn't Danny - it was all that was left of him. He didn't answer and a bloody hand lightly stroked his cheek. Then, without warning, Danny's cock was right up by his face. The head brushed against the corner of his lip and he couldn't help but bark a bit of a laugh. "Don't trust me to stand or even sit up, but you trust me not to bite it off?" he teased. 

Danny seemed to hesitate, good. Only not because when Tim looked up at him there was a sort of rage in his eyes he hadn't seen before. "You do, and that's the last of your hope, gone. The things I'll do to you then, the things Nikola will do to you then - we want you to be one of us, Tim, but so help me if you _bite_ then I'll just have to keep you as a torture toy. And I can keep you like that for a _long_ time." Tim almost regretted making the threat, he should have just done it. Because now it was a choice, wasn't it? 

Or it would have been, had reflex not taken over when Danny rather suddenly and forcefully pushed his cock into Tim's mouth and right toward his throat. Tim gagged at the angle of intrusion but swept his tongue along the underside of the cock currently in his mouth. He was rewarded with a deep moan from Danny - one that sounded like Danny. Tim closed his eyes. He shouldn't know what Danny's moans sounded like. He tried to tell himself that there were things you couldn't not learn about a person if you spent your mutual teenage years with nothing but a very thin wall between your beds. The thinness of the wall between their childhood bedrooms did little to hide the fact that Tim had been listening. 

He kept one hand on the floor, to stabilize himself, but caught hold of Danny's hip with the other. The skin ended fairly suddenly over the curve back toward his ass. Tim shifted his hand so it would rest only on skin. He could feel more staples under his fingertips and for a long moment he was tempted to grip and pull. He overrode that temptation, focusing instead on getting just the right amount of suction going. 

Of course, his touch did nothing to control Danny's movements and Danny thrust suddenly, repeatedly, fucking his mouth and the back of his throat and honestly Tim had to do very little to make Danny make those sounds - those low moans that rose and rose bit by bit with every thrust as Danny took what he wanted and Tim could do nothing but do his best to give it to him. 

Of course it would be like this. When you love someone and then fail to protect them, of course they'll only hurt you when they come back. Tim didn't know why he'd ever thought otherwise. 

Danny didn't last long. Must be the new skin. He pulled out at the last possible moment, not even needing to touch himself beyond a single stroke or two before he came on Tim's face. His right cheek, mostly, but there were also thin strands of white across the bridge of his nose and dripping down toward the corner of his mouth. Tim let go of Danny, and set his hand back on the floor rather then trying to wipe at his face. He wasn't surprised when, after breathing a contented sign, Danny commented, "You look good like that." 

Tim made a noncommittal noise and laid back down, resting his weight on his shins rather than his knees and tucking his face into what was left of his shirt beside his arm. Danny reached out and touched him again, just under the back of his neck. Then stroking, petting him, for several moments. It wasn't long before Tim was shaking again, whole frame jolting again and again as he tried to figure out if he was actually sobbing this time or just approximating it. 

"Well, you're a bit of a mess, huh?" Danny said, smiling. "I'll have to get some help cleaning you up." He patted Tim's shoulder, then leaned in and planted another lipless excuse for a kiss on Tim's temple. Then he stood. 

Then he was gone. 

Something caught in Tim's throat and he was suddenly, unmistakably sobbing. Not that he had the right to. Not after what he'd done. Maybe that was the way to look at it then. Whatever they did to him was no less than he deserved for selling the world to them. Irony aside, maybe it was good somebody was punishing him. What concerned him most, more than inappropriate touching, getting slashed open at the sides, or even being forced to suck off his own brother - what concerned him most was the talk of him joining them. 

He'd rather die than become something else, something other than human. Somehow though, he was starting to get the idea he wouldn't get that luxury. So he'd have to endure, and maybe keep some piece of his sanity. A piece he could tuck away. Hide it behind his grief and sarcasm and even fear if he had to. Someplace they wouldn't notice. Some piece that would stay him. Then once he crossed the line, once they accepted what he had become - 

Well, hopefully he'd still be there, waiting to surprise them.


	2. Chapter 2

Three days. 

That's how long a human could survive without water. A week without food. Eleven days without sleep, although that was more just trivia then particularly relevant to Tim's case. He'd definitely slept. Nightmares and everything. Vague sensations of not totally understanding, and the frustration that came with it. The sense of being watched, evaluated, then being snatched away before the evaluation was complete and placed amid wrong-colored waves with no sense of what you were or anything else was - 

The nightmares were better than being here. Chained to the floor like a dog, his own brother's prisoner. It was the worst part too, that it really was his brother. That it was Danny who had sliced him open and left him to bleed to death. Half a gallon, if Tim remembered right, was how much blood a grown man could lose before he died. It was Danny who had - 

If it'd happened to anyone else, Tim would call it rape. He just...it was ridiculous though. Danny hadn't raped him. That couldn't - 

This was, of course, the problem with being alone with your thoughts. Denial got a lot harder.   
That was Danny, though. Tim always thought he could forgive Danny anything. He hoped he bled to death before he had cause to challenge that belief. Or, more cause than he already did. 

The first sound he heard was a sharp tsking, a saccharine, hyper-feminine sound. "Look at you!" A voice to match the noise breathed, high and sure and strange and familiar at once. "The boy got you all bloody! Well, that won't do!" 

He didn't even have the chance to look, much less see where the water came from. Or if it was even water. The way it stung when it struck his cuts suggested it might not be. It tasted a bit sweet when it hit him, full-force in the face. Overall it felt like being sprayed down by a fire hose and Tim imagined it getting under his wounds and peeling up his entire back. Maybe if that happened this freak would put him out of his misery. 

The stream of water stopped as quickly as it started. The slashed shirt in front of Tim was soaked through now, and he could feel the water retreating away from him on the ground, backwards mostly. Then, a beat later, "Well, look at that. Some of it's even your own blood!" Another tsk, the sound would strike him as almost maternal if the voice it belonged to weren't so unsettling in its highs and lows. "That Danny. Never very good at taking care of his things, was he?" 

The past-tense startled Tim and he looked up suddenly. He didn't speak. Couldn't speak. He must have swallowed some of that sweet water because now his throat felt numb. His whole body felt numb, he realized. The cuts didn't ache the way they had. The only pain was the bone-deep stiffness through his muscles from having been kept prostrate so long. He couldn't speak but the intent of his glance was clear. The Mannequin laughed. "Oh no, I meant Danny as you knew him. I suppose I really ought to have used the present tense. Hmm. That's so sweet of you to worry though!" She paused a beat, then, "Would it hurt you if I destroyed him? Even now? Even with what he's become, what he did to you,..." she paused a beat, and then she was touching him. A gloved hand, far too cold to be attached to a human, was running down the length of his spine and finishing, "What he's made you do!" Then she laughed, and Tim's skin crawled. "You'd still miss him?" Her tone turned viscous. "If I _killed_ him?"

Tim opened his mouth to answer, but he didn't know what he was going to say. It didn't matter, nothing came out. "Oh, I know you can't speak," she dismissed. "Answer anyway." After only a moment’s more hesitation, Tim nodded. He blinked, trying desperately not to let tears form in his eyes. He opened his mouth, still trying to speak. He still couldn't. "That's _adorable_! Nikola cooed. "Brothers are the best, aren't they? Or maybe you're just a particularly good brother." 

She was behind him now, hand resting on his lower back. Maybe he should have suspected something when she said, "Now, let's get you stitched up before you get any more blood on my floor." Maybe he was just too lethargic from the blood loss, from the hopelessness. Maybe he actually expected the pin prick and tug of stitches in his legs and up his sides. What he didn't expect was her other hand settling on his arse and gently separating the cheeks. He opened his mouth to ask, to demand to know what she was doing, forgetting yet again that for some reason he couldn't speak right now. 

Then there was pain. 

Tim knew this sort of pain, although it had either never been this bad or not since he was a stupid teenager experimenting with things that were never meant to be used as sex toys for the first time. The white-hot stretch of intrusion. The blunt sort of sharpness as something - and most disturbing of all Tim didn't know what, being pressed into him. Whatever it was it was big. Certainly not the largest thing Tim had ever had up there - that honor still went to Matt Ross's cock third year at uni. The difference, of course, being that Matt had spent the better part of an hour working with Tim to get him ready for that. Whatever Nikola was shoving inside him, he was definitely not ready for. 

The silver lining was that he was finally able to make a sound again. It wasn't quite a scream, although definitely pitched higher than his typical shout. It felt almost good to yell after even only a few moments forced into silence. Good enough that he managed to tangle the word "FUCK!" into the sound as he pressed it forward. Of course, any pleasure he might have taken from having even some of his voice back was burned out by the pain shooting from the rim of his hole as it was forced to take in more and more of - whatever Nikola had back there. 

Nikola actually giggled. A high, near-musical sound. Like a music student at their first lesson plucking at random strings. Sure it sounds nice but it's somehow not really anything, is it? Then she commented, "Well, if you insist." and Tim groaned. Or, tried to groan. Seemed that part of his throat wasn't quite back in working order and the sound got stuck behind his teeth. He coughed it out and shook his head, violently, but it was too late and Nikola was drawing back and thrusting back in and Tim cried out again in what he couldn't even pretend wasn't a scream. Then she did it again and he just dropped his head, resting it on his arms without moving the rest of him. 

The next thrust, he could hear her _moan_ and he thought he might be sick. "Oh!" she gasped as she pulled back and pushed in again. "I wouldn't have thought _you'd_ be so tight!" and then she laughed. A warped little silver-bells sound that couldn't be over soon enough. Tim pushed his teeth together hard and pressed his tongue to the back of them. He couldn't speak, despite the hundreds of horrible things to say to her rushing to the tip of his tongue. If he couldn't speak, he certainly wouldn't give her the pleasure of screaming from her treatment. Not again. 

If he closed his eyes, if he blocked out enough of the pain and just listened - he could pretend this was okay. Even good. She made good sounds. He'd have taken some measure of pride in getting a lady to make sounds like that under just about any other circumstances. Of course, this wasn't exactly a lady he was dealing with, was it? 

It still hurt, of course. It felt like she was trying to split him in two. It was just...nothing he couldn't endure. He was sure of that now. He didn't know why she was doing this or even what, exactly, she was doing. If she were a person, he certainly wouldn't judge if she'd just...turned out to have a cock. That was normal. She was a mannequin. She shouldn't have anything down there, so Tim didn't know what was happening, or what too-large implement she'd shoved inside him, or how that affected her. He wanted to snark something about how she could stop faking it whenever she wanted but he still couldn't quite speak. In fact the only sound he could make was a low growling deep in his throat. 

"Oh!" she gasped, then tapped her hand, hard, against his mid-back. "Now stop that!" 

Tim went quiet for just a beat, then rather deliberately growled louder. He expected something to happen from that. Maybe she'd hit him again. Maybe she'd stop what she was doing to deal with his deliberate disobedience. She didn't though, she just kept going without another word. 

He didn't notice the change until her hands found his hips, holding him still to pound harder into him. He could feel her fingers, pressed together and clearly plastic, but with a strength in them mannequins just didn't have. Even then it took him a moment to notice the problem. There was a spot on each hip that couldn't feel her hands. A gap in the sensation of her hold, a stripe down his leg that, he realized a moment later, was right where he'd been cut. It was like the skin there had been numbed and knitted back together. When he focused on it though, it wasn't just his hips. The numbness spread almost the entire length of the cuts Danny left.

He felt it in his shoulder, finally. The sting of split skin started abruptly just under his shoulder blade. Then midway up his shoulder blade. Then it was gone altogether and there was nothing but a streak of numbness left behind. Nikola only had a few more thrusts after that, before slipping out of him and breathing, "There we are!" She patted his left hip. "All better! Cleaned up and pretty again!" 

This time, Tim was able to groan. He didn't lift his head, made no attempt to move. "Now, don't be like that." Nikola scolded. She traced her hand along his side, along the numb line that had been a wound moments ago. "You're better than ever!" 

She settled close beside his head, threading her fingers through his hair. A shiver went through him because the touch felt more wrong than he could possibly describe. Against his scalp it felt like her fingers were all connected. Tiny indentations giving the appearance of fingers without making them any more mobile. His hair slipped between her fingers anyway, as easily as if her hand were flesh and blood though. Slipping into the cracks that shouldn't be there. Then, of course, she pulled. 

Not hard. Enough to startle him more than anything. When he didn't move she pulled again, with the words "Come on then." Tim considered resisting further, but the spark died as quickly as it caught and he lifted his head obediently. Nikola shifted and then lightly pressed his head back down onto her lap. Her thigh was hard, the kind of hard plastic he'd never thought was comfortable. She continued carding her hand through his hair and for a moment, all was quiet. 

"Are you happy with your window, pet?" She asked, and for a moment Tim wasn't sure what she meant. He didn't know how he'd forgotten the enormous window that was basically right in front of his face. He'd been too upset after Danny's visit to look again. He didn't even try to answer, there was no reason to think he could even speak again. Nikola continued for a moment. "I know you were connected to Beholding, so I thought you might enjoy getting to have a look. You little eyes are all the same, really. Whether you think so or not." 

Tim was too tired to be offended. He should be. His connection to 'Beholding' or whatever douche-bag god Elias served was utterly involuntary and had nothing to do with his personality. He didn't want to see what the monster that was petting his hair had done to the world. To his world. Or did he? He'd looked, after all. He made a small, frustrated noise in the back of his throat and Nikola tsk'd at him. "Oh don't be like that, little eye. If you don't embrace who you were, you can never master what you'll become." 

The need to tell her that 'That's the _Fucking_ point.' was so nearly overwhelming that he practically threw his head off her lap to look up at her. The movement was fast enough to knock her hand off her head but the words caught in his throat. He could feel them there, clogging up his airway, choking him. He fought through it, the only sound coming out of his mouth a sharp whine as he tried to force his voice to work. **That Was The Point** and she needed to know it. He didn't want to become anything, much less master it. He hadn't been anything other than human when this started and he would rather die than change that. She just looked at him, smile wide enough to be unsettling.

Slowly, reluctantly, Tim laid his head back down. Nikola made a small, contented sound and Tim had a small burst of awareness of what a perfect mockery this was of something he'd enjoy. "Poor thing," she cooed after a moment. "You'll be so much happier if you let go. The world doesn't have to make sense. It never will again!" she laughed again, the little silver-bells sound sending a chill through Tim's whole body. Her hand dropped from his hair and began massaging hard at the back and sides of his neck above the shackle. It felt good - not as good as it would have from flesh and blood fingers - but like a particularly effective plastic massager, pressing and pulling just right. 

To his horror, he made a pleased sort of moaning sound. But only when she worked loose a knot he'd formed at the base of his skull and was suddenly lightheaded from the rush of bloodflow to his brain. "That's it." she praised. She slid her hand down more, to his shoulder, and another little chill went through him as he realized she was tracing the line that he couldn't feel. "I suppose Danny did have a good idea here, I had to start somewhere, after all!" Tim growled again. Growling was proving a remarkably effective way to express himself. He wasn't fond of how well it suited the 'pet' imagery she seemed determined to force on him but if it worked it worked. 

"So stubborn! One of the worst, really. I'll bet you're proud of that. You've lasted longer than most of the ones who have no idea. Almost everyone out there has succumbed. No one knows what they are, what the world is, or if they can trust anyone! It's delightful. Things move that they think shouldn't, and don't move that they think should! It's all so much fun and I wish you could enjoy it." She paused a moment, then added, "The Archivist isn't learning to enjoy it. I didn't think he would really, but he broke so much faster than I'd hoped." 

Tim felt an odd little flash go through him. He looked up at her questioningly. Jon broke? Was he still alive? Nikola hummed a moment. "I'd thought about giving his skin to Danny, but Danny's not very careful with his gifts, is he?" She prodded Tim's side hard. Hard enough he could actually feel her touch. The pull of the numb bit against his skin and the pressure on the muscle underneath. "I worked so hard on that skin too..." 

Tim wanted to ask, to conform. He didn't know why. Jon being alive wasn't any sort of kindness at this stage. Jon being dead wasn't even something he'd mourn. Still he had that curiosity on the tip of his tongue. She must have seen something, the way he'd worked his jaw, perhaps, because she answered anyway, without answering. "Oh, you don't know why you care, do you?" She laughed again, and Tim jammed his teeth against each other hard. He couldn't think of a sound he had ever hated more than that laugh. 

"Oh, I wish you could taste it!" Nikola said suddenly. "The terror enveloping the world...I'm one of the lucky ones - I get a taste as it passes to I-do-not-know-you and oh, little eye, the chaos is so much sweeter than knowledge could ever have been for you -" 

"I'll pass, thanks." Given he hadn't been able to speak a moment ago, the words slipped out surprisingly naturally, without any real effort on his part. "I've heard chaos is bad for you, really." He hadn't thought about anything he'd said so far, but the sarcasm that followed was entirely intentional. "Maybe you could try my favorite? It's called Real Food." 

Her fingers curled suddenly in his hair. She hadn’t done that before. Her grip tightened and he felt what seemed to be the back edge of plastic nails biting into his skull as she pulled suddenly. Hard enough to yank his head out of her lap. He didn't know what to expect for just a flash - and felt incredibly stupid for not realizing that for just a beat as the heel of her hand pushed into the back of his head hard enough to drive his face directly into the floor.   
It wasn't the first time Tim had gotten a broken nose. It wasn't even the first time he'd broken his nose by slamming his face into the floor. That had happened before when he stumbled on the way out the door while both his arms were loaded down with camping gear. Other instances of broken noses included an ill-conceived attempt at proving his masculinity or some such as a teen, and a particularly embarrassing encounter with a door jam while drunk. None of these incidents had also come with a split forehead, but this time he was acutely aware of the blood spilling down the disjointed bridge of his nose and into the corners of his eyes. 

"Brat." Nikola snarled. 

"Can't be happy unless the whole world re-makes itself on your whim, but I'm the brat." Tim managed. This time he was ready for it when she shoved his head into the floor again. The cut on his forehead tore open worse, and the world spun. He opened his mouth to try and snark again but all that came out was, "Fucking - ...ow." An understated response, but one he couldn't help but hope would provoke her. He was done with the sickly-sweet treatment. 

It didn't provoke her. Instead she just tsk'd at him. Okay, so maybe there was a sound he hated more than her laugh. He growled back at her and, rather then provoking another assault, he merely provoked, of course, that laugh. "Naughty Pet! Maybe I ought to take your voice for good. Plenty of people like me who could use a good voice box." 

"Try it." Tim growled. Not that he wanted his voice taken. He just wasn't going back down to any threat anymore. However horrific it was when he let himself play over the implications. 

"Hmmm," Nikola considered. "The problem is I'm not quite sure how to do that without killing you." Tim was about to say something about her re-thinking that part of the plan when her fingernails pressed suddenly against his throat, just below the shackle. "Mmm...no, afraid this'll have to stay mostly intact - too bad." Then she tapped. Hard enough to split skin with that sharp nail. Then she sighed heavily. "Oh look, you've gotten all bloody again." 

"Right," Tim shot back, a bit painfully as the shock of the impacts was starting to wear off. "And whose fault was that again?" Sure enough, the hand still curled in his hair pressed down again suddenly and his face hit the floor again. He was pretty sure all it did this time was knock his nose further out of joint as he could taste the sudden flow of blood from it now. 

"Yours," Nikola spat. Then, "Oh well, I guess I'll just fix you again." Tim, through watering eyes and around the taste of blood, opened his mouth to snark back before Nikola added, "I could do this all day, little eye. All day every day for a _very_ long time. Don't press." And like that she'd let go of him and gotten to her feet. Of course, he hadn't seen her actually standing. One second she was sitting and the next she wasn't. Best get used to that, Tim couldn't let anything unsettle him anymore. 

Not even the sound of rustling fabric behind him. Not even the blunt-sharp pressure against his already abused hole. Not even the way she dug her nails in this time. Instead, he just let himself wonder if she'd had those to begin with or simply sprouted them when he noticed they were there. That last one got a bit murky on the cause-and-effect issue but that was life these days. Another thing to get use to. 

You could get used to anything, Tim reminded himself, even as he grimaced with the pain and, more than anything the humiliation of what she was doing. At least the first time his body had had the courtesy not to enjoy itself. This time it hurt just that little bit less though. This time he could feel the stimulation despite its source. She was moaning again too, as she pulled back and thrust back in again and again, digging nails into his hips in little crescents all around the numb lines. So of course his cock took notice, and of course Nikola noticed his cock. "Having fun this time, hmm?" she teased. 

"No." Tim growled. "That thing's always had a mind of its own." 

He hated the sound of her laugh so much, maybe he ought to stop making shitty jokes at her. It was reflexive though, a lifelong defense mechanism. She didn't say anything though, and for that he was thankful. Just the high, clear laugh that sent chills through his entire body.   
It was a moment later he felt it. The numbness. His forehead was first, the pain vanishing and the blood flow stemming. Then the pain vanished in his nose and - the sound of something snapping. Muffled, and accompanied by a jolt that Tim had never thought could be separated from pain as cartilage rebuilt itself in the proper place. Except it wasn't cartilage anymore, was it? There was something far less sensitive there now, and not just knitting his skin together anymore either. He wondered just how deeply her...cock or whatever it was could heal. Not so deep, it seemed, if she wouldn't remove his voice box for fear it'd kill him. Or maybe it's just that it worked slowly. It certainly seemed she'd been going for eternity. 

Once his nose was back in place she stopped again. Pulling out with a contented sigh, "Glad I learned that trick," she breathed. She then lightly patted his rear, and commented, "It can only change you on the outside though. The insides...those, real, human insides not that messy fleshy stuff we're well on our way to dealing with, those you'll have to change yourself." 

"Not gonna happen." Tim growled, almost reflexively.

There was the sound of clothes rustling again. Then Nikola hummed a little. "We'll see." she answered. He wasn't sure where she went, but he knew in an instant she was gone. Not behind him anymore, not anywhere in the room. Once again, Tim was alone. 

He tried to convince himself that was better.

He failed.


	3. Chapter 3

Sometimes, Tim wondered if they were just waiting for him to be ready to sell his soul for the opportunity to stretch his legs. The bands that kept him on his knees had been unobtrusive at first compared to the obnoxious red shackle around his neck. Now he held them singularly responsible for how badly his body ached. The chain attaching him to the floor was long enough to have allowed him some mobility if not for those things. His knees had been the first to begin protesting. After that his back. His back he could stretch reasonably well by curling back and sitting on his heels and reaching forward. Once his legs started to cramp up though, Tim knew he was through. Leg cramps. Who knew it'd be so easy to break him? 

Of course, he'd swing back from that thought, remind himself that he was far from broken, and that Orsinov and her sort had a long way to go if they wanted to change him. He was human, he was angry, and he was sane. It was a lot to remind himself of, surprisingly, and felt hard to hold in his head all at once. The awareness he'd have to let go of at least some of that sooner or later was nearly crushing. He could still feel even that much starting to slip. All he could do was hang on as long as he could - and possibly provoke them to kill him before he changed too much. 

Already, the way he breathed was different. The part of his nose that had been broken didn't flex quite right anymore, forcing breaths through his nose to be shallower. Never quite enough. He took to breathing in through his mouth. The opposite of what everyone always told you to calm down. In through the mouth, out through the nose. That kept his breaths deep - and slow enough that he didn't risk hyperventilating even when panic about his situation began setting in all over again. He could calm himself just enough to remember that he deserved it. 

"I think we made the right choice." He could hear Danny's voice before he could see either of them. "Of all the circuses popping up all over the world, I really think we went to the best ones." 

"Oh that wasn't a choice!" Nikola answered. "We _made_ them the best! Just by being there!" 

"Mmmm," Danny considered. "I think it had more to do with the little tricks you brought along than just us being there." 

Nikola giggled, and the pair entered the room enough that Tim could see them if he turned his head. He was looking toward them when Nikola commented, "The bit with the children was my favorite!" 

Danny laughed, and Tim didn't want to hear more. "Are you just gonna stand there talking about your day?" he demanded. "Because, I didn't realize the plan was to torture me." 

"You didn't?" Danny asked, laughter in his voice, and Tim had to do a double take at him. It'd taken a moment to realize what was wrong. He'd seen something was different but hadn't placed it until then. "Not like you to be so thick, Tim." 

Nikola smacked Danny in the chest and said, "Now, the plan isn't to torture him!" she paused, then added, "Not unless we have to." 

Tim may have been the one who brought up the subject of torture, but he quickly lost interest of it in favor of noting, "Danny! You have skin!" He sounded a good deal more enthusiastic than he was. Danny looked almost normal. Almost back the way he had, and maybe for a fraction of a moment that had felt like a good thing. There was something off, of course there was there was something off about everyone these days, 

In Danny's case, that something was, for starters, the thin threads that stitched patches of skin in various shades across his face, neck, even his hands. A patchwork, but better than it had been. Or at least it looked better. It took an extra moment now to remember that Danny wasn't human anymore.

Danny preened. "Yes! I do, isn't it nice? Nikola and I have been all over collecting it, having a blast. Wish you'd been there." 

Tim hesitated a beat, then, "I know you're expecting me to say I was a little tied up and couldn't make it, but honestly, just because I know the cliche doesn't mean I'm going to use it." 

"Actually, I wasn't expecting that at all." Danny answered. 

Tim snorted. "I know." 

There was a brief, strained pause. Then Nikola spoke again. "Danny? I think your brother might be, um, an idiot!" Her voice was light and creepy as ever, and Tim wondered if he'd actually convinced her he was stupid or if she was just making fun of him. 

Danny huffed in amusement. "Nah, he's just trying to be funny. He used to be better at it, but he's out of practice. He'll adjust." 

Tim made an attempt at a displeased noise. "Will I though? Honestly I think my sense of humor's just fine." It wasn't, but he wasn't going to leave claims like that unchallenged. He had no plans to adjust to any of this. 

Danny walked over, and for a moment Tim thought he looked sad. "You will," he said, and that same sadness had touched his voice. Then he pulled a gun from his waistband and held it casually at his side. "We're not giving you a choice." 

Tim eyed the weapon, surprised and uncomfortable. He did his best to shift, to stretch out his sore thighs just a little, before answering. "That's still a choice, Danny." His voice was even, calmer than he felt. His heart rate had instinctively kicked up at the sight of a gun - the very real threat setting off a survival instinct he'd hoped to have long since abandoned. He couldn't let that show though, he hoped his expression was as calm as his voice.

Suddenly, the gun filled Tim's vision, held directly in front of his face. This close, he could see how the skin around Danny's thumb was stitched to the back of his hand, then the stitchwork went up, the patch of light brown skin covered to well above his wrist, a stark contrast with the pale skin stretched over the back of his hand. Despite the wrongness, it was easier to look at Danny's hand than the gun. "Is it one you'll make though?" Danny asked, voice mocking. 

"Try me." Tim challenged. 

Danny turned the gun to aim it at him. Tim tried not to look directly at the barrel. The gun lowered a few inches, and then Danny pressed it in until the barrel bumped the corner of his mouth. "Suck on it," he ordered, harshly. 

Tim looked up at Danny skeptically. "Really?" he responded. Danny looked down at him, expression set and hard. Tim rolled his eyes. "Danny..." he trailed off slightly and sighed. "What is with you and sticking things in my mouth?" 

"Maybe I'm just enjoying the fact that I can finally shut you up." Danny shot back. 

"That's what _gags_ are for, Danny." Tim answered, forced, almost mocking patience in his voice. "Cocks and guns are definitely not just about shutting me up." 

Danny reached out with his other hand and, for a moment, touched his head tenderly, dragging his now skin covered fingers through Tim's hair. "Tim-" he said, voice going gentle, but tired. Like one would talk to a petulant child who'd been trying your patience. "We talked about this. Your feelings are okay." 

Tim bristled, a cord of anger winding through him and bursting out. "Fuck Off," he snapped.

The gun pressed hard against the bottom of his cheek. "Suck. On. It." Danny demanded.

Tim turned his head without thought. Obeyed without considering, and realized as his mouth closed on the steel barrel that he had just failed. The consequence if he hadn't done this was what he wanted, after all. Danny would have shot him. Although that placement might not have been fatal, and he certainly didn't want his entire jaw to be repaired the way his nose had been. That hadn't been part of his thought process though, he'd just...obeyed. 

It didn't help the rush of shame any when Danny laughed at him. Nikola made a distant tittering sort of noise and Tim was nearly overwhelmed with the desire to murder her where she stood. The rage was nearly blinding and it was all he could do not to bite down on the cold metal that was pressing down on his tongue. Instead he obeyed and sucked at the barrel. Hard. 

"Ooohhh..." Nikola swept into view and peered down at him. "Is he doing it?" 

"Oh yes." Danny answered, and Tim shuddered at his tone. Heavy and sensual. "Look at him. Bet he gets off on it." 

"On the danger?" Nikola asked, interested. "Or on obeying you?" 

"Both, I'll bet." Danny responded, and the sneer in his voice made Tim's stomach turn. He didn't stop, though he wanted to. It occurred to him that a shot now would be a lot more fatal than one would have been earlier. That's what he wanted, wasn't it? He wanted to die before they could change him. Before they could humiliate him farther. 

Once he would have thought of this right now as his worst-case scenario. He was now aware just how much worse it could, and likely would, get. It was strange, thinking high-minded thoughts about keeping grasp of his humanity while he was sucking on the barrel of a gun. 

Danny's trigger discipline wasn't as bad as Tim might have liked in that exact moment. His finger was resting alongside the back half of the barrel, and he turned his head away to look over at Nikola. "I'm glad you let me keep him. I'd missed him." 

"Oh, of course!" Nikola answered "He was vital to stopping The Archivist, after all." Suddenly Tim could feel Nikola's fingers in his hair, all wrong, again. She was petting him, and he wished he could just vomit on Danny's gun and hand. Unfortunately, despite the waves of nausea, his stomach was empty. "He deserves to be one of us." 

There were tears in Tim's eyes now. He couldn't stop them. He wished Danny would choke him with the gun so that at least he had an excuse but the barrel just sat in the front half of his mouth, collecting saliva he couldn't quite position his mouth to swallow back. He didn't like being reminded of exactly who and what he'd betrayed for the man, the thing, who currently had a gun shoved in his mouth. 

"Maybe you should have taken him when you took me." Danny commented, sounding a bit wistful. "He was there, after all." He looked down at Tim, fondly, and for a moment Tim was sure nothing could hurt more than the glance up he took then. The way Danny was looking at him. Longing and almost sweet and Tim ached with the need to reach for him. He looked down again, but he could still see that expression in his mind. 

"Might have if he'd come down." Nikola answered. "He didn't though. He just stood there, watching." She laughed "Pagliacci was convinced we'd lost him to Beholding, but here he is!" 

Tim hated that he was crying. His shoulders shook and his face was wet and he was waiting for them to mock him for it. Maybe it was a good thing though. Maybe letting himself feel pain would help keep him human. "Here he is," Danny echoed. "Our reluctant hero!" 

"How are you holding that?" Nikola asked suddenly. She stopped petting his hair and leaned in even closer. "Why's your finger there, shouldn't it be -" 

She shifted a bit, and Danny laughed. "I suppose it should. I wasn't thinking of shooting him but - well, it's no fun if we're not risking it." 

Nikola giggled, and Tim opened his eyes. Her hand was split in a way that looked unnatural in the plastic, her finger curved rather than curled at joints and wrapped around the trigger. Her palm and other three fingers were wrapped around Danny's hand and her thumb -   
Her thumb was stroking Danny's wrist, the pad of it tracing the stitching up the side of his thumb. It was a familiar gesture, intimate in a way that made Tim want to scream. She wasn't even touching him but the rage came new and made breathing near impossible. He pulled hard breaths in through his nose and huffed them out, still sucking at the barrel. 

"There you go." Danny said, slipping his hand out from under hers and covering it instead. "Keep a firm hold. That's it." He looked at her and Tim thought he saw a moment between them. Maybe it was just his anger at the thought, a jealousy he had never nursed bursting from him regardless, leaving him more helpless than ever. Then Danny let go of her and pulled away. When he spoke again he sounded hungry. "I want him." 

Danny's hand started at his shoulder, running the length of his back curved down over his side, palm only just brushing the thin stripe of numbness. His hand lingered over the bottom of Tim's ribs, taking in the shallow curve at his waist and down to his hip. Tim managed a noise of protest when he felt Danny settle in behind him. "It's okay, Tim." Danny said, voice reassuring as he gently stroked Tim's sides, then up over the small of his back. "I know you'd rather be alone with just me for this part, but it's okay." 

Tim tried to yell. Stopped sucking and tried to spit out the gun. Nikola grabbed his head and forced the barrel farther back, at just the wrong angle too and his gag reflex tripped. He choked and for a moment tried to suck air in through his nose. Then he stopped trying. Stopped doing much of anything except supporting his weight on his arms. He heard the cloth of Danny's pants shift and felt a hard shaft press against him, between his cheeks, and Danny made a pleased sort of sound then reached down with one hand and around with the other. 

At least Danny started with fingers, pressing two of them together and gradually into Tim's hole and Tim tried to shout again but only gagged on the gun. Maybe if he struggled, Nikola would squeeze the trigger. Except at this angle there wasn't much room to struggle, especially when Danny's other hand curled around his cock and began stroking in time with the slow, stretching thrusts of his fingers. It was still dry, and it still hurt, but less than whatever Nikola had done. 

He was still crying, very nearly sobbing. He hated it. There was nothing about this he didn't hate, even if not especially himself. Danny knew what he was doing though, and Tim was rock hard in moments. He made another noise of protest around the gun and Danny mumbled wordless reassurances that made Tim feel even sicker than all the crying and gagging and nausea. 

It had to have been just a few moments, though it felt like both seconds and hours. His shoulders stopped heaving. He must be breathing, somehow, he was still conscious. He couldn't feel the exchange of air and was lightheaded so likely there wasn't enough of it. Danny eventually pulled his fingers out and shoved his cock in and Tim held back another cry despite the fresh wave of tears clouding his vision. 

Nikola's finger was on the trigger. All he had to do was...jostle her. If this had happened hours or days ago he could have lifted his arms and held position long enough to - hell, maybe even disarm her. Right now though, Tim was sure if he lifted even one hand off the hard floor that he would collapse under his own weight. That might still accomplish his goal - or the gun could go off and hit Danny instead. For some reason that was still a bad thing in Tim's mind. 

Danny was still for a long moment, fully sheathed inside of Tim, apparently adjusting or something. When he started moving, Tim allowed his first thrust back in to drive him forward, choking himself again on the gun before drawing back again when Danny withdrew. Nikola made a surprised sound but didn't fire. Tim did it again on the next thrust, and the next. He couldn't see, wasn't sure if he was still crying or if his eyes were watering from gagging, and he couldn't breathe. 

It was the fourth thrust when Tim saw Nikola pull the trigger. 

The gun clicked. 

Danny withdrew and thrust again. Tim didn't let himself pitch forward this time, or the time after that. By the third after that deafening, quiet click, Danny had realized something was wrong. He sounded out of breath when he gasped "...Is the gun unloaded?" 

Nikola laughed. "Of course! I'm not bringing a loaded gun into the room with a violent prisoner!" 

"You agreed!" Danny shouted, pulling out of and away from Tim. "You said it was no fun if the danger wasn't real!" 

Nikola tsk'd. "You were having fun, weren't you?" 

Danny sounded furious, he was still shouting. "You shot him! You had to hold your finger on the trigger and you shot him!" 

"And now he's not dead!" Nikola returned. "You're welcome!" 

The gun was out of his mouth now. Tim wasn't exactly sure how or when that had happened but he was suddenly coughing. His airway cleared after a few moments, and he realized he'd missed several seconds worth of the exchange between Nikola and Danny. He drew in a long, ragged breath that he pushed out through his nose in time to hear Danny half-shout "...don't know why you keep me around anyway!" 

Nikola looked to be about to respond when something happened. Tim didn't know exactly what it was, or what he felt, but there was a sound like a slamming door and Nikola scowled at the space behind Tim where, Tim was absolutely certain, Danny wasn't anymore.   
Nikola had just enough time to sigh heavily before it happened. 

The agony wasn't instant. There was a brief moment of pressure on Tim's right leg under the band. Then the pressure was gone and in its place was a kind of pain he'd never known before. It was overwhelming, he could think of nothing else, feel nothing else. The entire world, the world he'd helped destroy, was gone, and all that was there was the pain.   
Dimly, he knew Nikola was touching him. She was saying something, he couldn't tell what. The world swam out of focus and Tim couldn't bring himself to try to return to it. Especially not as he could feel Nikola's hands slip down his body and he started to get the feeling he knew what was coming. 

He was right. For a moment the sheer size of whatever Nikola shoved inside him took his attention away from the pain in his leg. Maybe that was part of the point because it felt like she was being a lot rougher with him than she had been before. She fucked him, hard and fast and Tim felt himself starting to slip out of consciousness, and back in with the next thrust.   
He didn't know how long it lasted, he had no real sense of time. The pain had begun to dull though, in his leg and his arse and all the way through his back. Everything hurt - but it was returning slowly to that vicious ache that had taken over his body before either of them had even touched him this time. He was returning, slowly, to the reality around him. If he could have just stayed in the haze of pain forever he would have chosen it over coming back to find Nikola gently stroking his back and shoulders. 

"There now," she said, her voice much to gentle. "That's better, isn't it?" 

Tim just groaned. 

"I know." Nikola said, still too gentle. He wished she would...do something monstrous. Laugh in that terrifying way of hers, or stroke his hair with those unnatural fingers. Instead she gave just the lightest touch to his back, drawing the ache from deep in his muscles right up to his skin until he felt like he would scream with the need for pressure. "I know," she echoed. Then she pulled away from him. 

There was a little motion behind him, then Nikola stepped around to in front of him, and held something out in his view. "Look what you lost." 

It was his leg. From the knee down, just...severed. Tim was shaking. His whole body, trembling uncontrollably. It took multiple tries to get even a single word out. "H-h-h-how?" 

"Mmm, Danny must've pulled the cord." Nikola answered. "I was going to have to do it anyway sooner or later, he just got impatient." She paused, then asked "Was he always like that?" Tim could only take a shaky breath in answer and Nikola hummed a bit. "Oh, never mind. You're in no shape to answer." Then, she set his leg down, between Tim and his window, commenting "I'll just leave this here." 

Then she was gone, swept out of the room like she'd never been there. 

Except for the leg that had been a part of him mere minutes ago, Tim was alone.


	4. Chapter 4

In the world Tim knew, it couldn't have been that long that he was left alone. The leg, his leg, not his leg anymore? Was unchanged. No sign of rot or...or whatever happened to bits of a person that got chopped off and left. If nothing else, it was a good deterrent from trying to look out the window. From trying to keep his eyes open at all, really. 

His arm had gone numb from resting his head on it, and he didn't care. He was turned on his side, he could more-or-less do that now that one leg was free. It turned his hip at a painful angle but that was hardly noticeable given that it felt like every muscle in his body had knotted and was competing to see which could shoot the most pain into its surrounding tissue. 

He was conscious a little more often now. He'd fallen in and out for what felt like days. Or rather, felt like years so he presumed must be days. His dreams were anything but pleasant, often re-living his most recent traumas, other times extrapolating from them into ever-worsening scenarios. 

He'd been conscious for...a while, alternating between staring at his own fingertips and letting his eyes drift closed in the hopes of more sleep when he heard footsteps. He made no move to lift his head, no move to acknowledge who, or what, ever had entered. The footsteps stopped still a good deal away, and then, Danny's voice. "Hi, Tim." 

Tim didn't answer. He waited for the anger. The swell of rage, the urge to scream _You cut off my leg, you asshole_ or something. It never came. He just laid there, eyes closed, breathing slowly. "Tim?" Danny echoed, concern in his voice. Tim huffed involuntarily. His own brother had stuck what he thought a loaded gun in his mouth and then got so angry when it turned out to be unloaded he'd Cut Off His Leg. There was really no reason to speak to him at this point. Danny sighed. "Right. You're mad at me. Of course you are." 

There was silence for a moment. Then Danny approached, and his breath caught. "Oh, will you look at that." and then all at once he was kneeling down by Tim's feet and - it was the strangest sensation. Tim was convinced it should hurt. Half of Danny's hand was resting on the side of Tim's knee, but it was flat. 

Tim knew there was something else there. He'd bumped the foot he still had on it enough times. When he looked though, he was surprised to see Danny cradling what looked to be a pure white plastic foot - currently attached to Tim's leg. Tim's breath caught, but almost certainly not for the same reason as Danny's. He resolved not to cry again. "That's beautiful." Danny said after a moment, feeling the artificial leg and how it attached to Tim's real one. Tim huffed again. 

"Oh, don't be like that." Danny all but whined. "Look, I'm sorry about your leg, Tim, really, I am. I shouldn't have done that. I mean. Ideally we're going to replace as much of you as we can but -" he sighed. "I was throwing a tantrum, and I'm sorry." 

Tim finally spoke. "Why don't you kill me?" 

Danny blinked. "What?" 

"You threw a tantrum when your boss didn't kill me." Tim stated, and Danny's eyes widened. "Why don't you do it yourself?" 

"Tim, no..." Danny breathed "No, I don't - I don't want you dead." Tim snorted, and Danny protested. "I don't! I want you with me. Free and happy and enjoying this new world of unreason." He paused, then added, "It's a bit like Wonderland, really. We use to read those books together, remember? Now we can live them. Together." 

Phrased like that it was tempting, and the ache in Tim's muscles spread through his chest. He was silent though, and he didn't look up. They could be together now, couldn't they? Well and truly together. The only price was his humanity. His compassion. His will to do and be good. How much of that had already been burned away by the need for vengeance? By being on both ends of extensive manipulation. He'd already traded the world for Danny, what was he holding on to himself for then? Tim had no answer, but he still didn't respond. 

With his eyes closed, Danny's touch felt good. Now that he had skin, it was a familiar touch, although of a very different sort. The way Danny's hands explored his body, a soft but firm touch that Tim could feel melting him. He tried to focus, to feel the stitching between patches of skin but he couldn't. All he could feel were his little brother's hands. His resolve not to cry again wavered. "You know you're gorgeous." Danny said softly. He pulled his hand back and began tracing patterns on Tim's skin with his fingertip. "You've been through so much but you're still - " a pause, then, "Even more attractive, I'd say." 

Danny went about silently tracing patterns after that. It took Tim much too long to realize what he was using for guidance. He swallowed when he realized. "Danny -" he said, voice low. Heavy. Hurting, he realized. He sounded as hurt as he felt. 

"It's okay." Danny replied. "I like them. It's like playing connect the dots." 

"I almost died getting them." Tim replied.

Danny nodded. "The Hive. I know. You were brave." 

Tim wanted to ask how Danny knew about that. He then decided he didn't want to know. He closed his eyes again and made a soft noise as Danny just - kept touching him. Not sexually, not really. Just intimately. Carefully. 

Then he stopped. It was for just a moment. One hand stilled on Tim's hip and the other was momentarily elsewhere. Tim didn't have time to question where it had gone before he felt something sharp bite into his skin to one side of his abdomen. He yelped involuntarily, and Danny's fingers tightened over his hip. "It's okay." Danny said, voice calm. Reassuring, even. "I'm just -" 

"You're just what?!" Tim snapped, eyes popping open. "Cutting me? Again? What the hell, Danny?" 

"Just, trust me, Timmy." Danny said, and Tim froze. His lip curled and jaw tightened. "This'll look so much better than what Nikola would do to you." 

Tim practically snarled in response. "You don't get to call me that," he growled. 

Danny looked at him, expression hurt. "I'm the only one who gets to call you that." he replied. 

"You're not Danny." 

Danny still looked hurt, and for a second Tim wanted to take it back. He couldn't though. That wasn't Danny. Except for the skin, it looked like him. Sounded like him. Almost even acted like him, but it wasn't his little brother. Not anymore. He had to remember that. Finally, Danny spoke. "Then I've got no reason to be nice about this, do I?" and suddenly the hand at his hip was gripping with bruising force and pushing him back. Back so hard his knee twisted near to the point of breaking. 

The knife dug harder into his belly. Not far, but deeper than the surface skin. Danny began drawing lines with his knife between Tim's scars. Attaching them. A twisted game of connect the dots that left Tim bleeding. It was with no small amount of horror that Tim realized Danny wasn't just cutting at random, but slicing actual patterns between the old scars. 

The first was initially just a large venn diagram across his abdomen. Until Danny carved a smile into one circle and a frown into the other. The eyes were irregularly shaped because Tim's scarring was anything but symmetrical. Tim wasn't sure he'd have been able to feel what it was if he hadn't looked down. 

When Danny pushed him down onto his wounded stomach and drove a knee into the small of his back, Tim had no idea what was being carved into his shoulder blades. He clamped his jaw down as hard as he could, grinding his teeth together. He still screamed through them as Danny sliced into him, carving some other intricate pattern into his back. 

He didn't cry this time. Of course he didn't. It wasn't the same at all. Or maybe he'd just cried all he could last time and was out of tears. All he did, perhaps all he could do, was scream now and then through his teeth as Danny cut through a particularly sensitive bit of flesh.

Danny pulled back and let go of Tim, getting to his feet and stating "There. That'll look good." He paused, then added, "Well, good for my handiwork, anyway. You were always the better artist." Then he turned and walked out. 

Tim curled back onto his side so none of his injuries were pressed to the floor. At least it was just slashes, he tried to reason. They weren't deep, and they weren't the worst he'd ever had. When Nikola came back it would only be his skin that changed. Nothing internal, not an entire limb. Just new scars that would fill with plastic. He could survive that. 

He might not survive if Nikola didn't come back soon. Which, really, was alright by Tim. He'd hoped for something a bit quicker than bleeding to death from shallow cuts and half wondered if it was even possible. He couldn't tell if they were still bleeding or not. They certainly still hurt. Honestly he was about at the point he'd always thought people passed out from pain. Except it was all dull, throbbing pain that was more irritating than anything. A full-body soreness and the wounds felt more raw than anything. 

He was almost asleep, or maybe he'd fallen asleep and was abruptly woken by Danny's return. His voice was panicked when he called "Tim!" and rushed to Tim's side. "Tim are you - please be okay." 

Tim lifted his head and blinked at his brother. Groggy and sore and bleeding. Danny looked down at him, eyes wet. "I can't find Nikola, I can't - I don't know how to heal you on my own." Tim huffed and Danny protested "Tim, I don't know how bad I hurt you! I just thought she'd - you're bleeding so badly..." 

"Can't take it back now." Tim growled softly. "I thought you didn't care." 

"How could you think that?!" Danny demanded, sounding so genuinely horrified Tim actually felt a pang of guilt. "Timmy, you're my _brother_ , of course I care." 

"You've slashed me open twice now!" Tim snapped, the guilt morphing into rage and pouring suddenly out of him. "Twice! You've - you and your...whatever, you've been _raping_ me. Don't pretend that's not what it is, I made it clear I didn't want it." Tim sucked in a breath. He couldn't yell about what had happened to his nose, as that was strictly Nikola's doing, but, "You cut off my leg! You threw a _tantrum_ when Nikola didn't murder me by accident! By your own admission, a tantrum! Because the gun she had just _fired_ in my fucking mouth was unloaded. I'm sorry, it's hard to believe you actually care, Danny. It's..." he sighed "At best, you're an idiot. Serving The Stranger has made you stupid. You're not..." he hesitated, and corrected "You're practically not even my brother anymore. Not the Danny I knew. Look at you. Different skin, a patchwork. Different priorities. You hurt people for fun. You've been holding me prisoner I don't know how long...so yeah. I'm surprised that you give a shit." 

"Tim-" Danny breathed, and Tim had to look at him. He looked right on the verge of crying.   
Tim sighed heavily. "I'm not sorry, Dan. I'm not. You've done nothing but hurt me since I got you back." 

"I don't mean to!" Danny nearly shouted. "I don't want to hurt you, Tim! I want to make you better." He sniffed, folding his arms over his chest, folding in on himself. "You gave up the world for me. Gave the world _to_ me and...I'm grateful. I am. I just...want to share it with you." He sniffed again "...but you never would. You're too good. Too clean. Always the Hero. I need you to be the villain because - well, the villains won this one. Thanks to you." 

"Listen to you," Tim snarled. "Self-identifying as a villain. What happened to you? They stole you from your life, skinned you alive, used you for their ritual and then as a bargaining chip..." He shook his head. "You should be as angry as I am. You should hate me for selling out the world for you, I know I would if our places were reversed." 

"You have no idea what I've been through!" Danny was actually yelling now. "You have no idea what it's like- I...I adapted, Tim. I became what they wanted me to be because the choice was to become a monster or die." His tone shifted suddenly to something much calmer. "And that's okay. I was bored with humanity anyway. I think maybe I was never meant to be human. I was always destined for this. To be something - just a little bit strange. A little bit wrong. So much more natural than having to be perfect every second -" 

Danny was crying now. The tears that had collected in his eyes were falling and Tim hated the way sympathy rose up in him. Despite everything, everything that had happened, everything they'd just said - despite the fact that this was barely even Still Danny - It was Still Danny. 

First Tim propped himself up on an elbow. Then he got his hand under him and pushed himself to as near sitting up as the chain allowed. Finally he shifted his hips so the angle was closer to natural. Then he opened his arms. "Come here." he said gently.

Danny obeyed, curling into Tim's side and wrapping arms around him, headless of the blood flowing from his back and abdomen. Danny's weight nearly pushed Tim back to the floor but he dropped one hand to support his own weight and wrapped the other around Danny's shoulders. Danny buried his face against his shoulder and when he spoke his voice was heavy with tears. "Don't die, Tim. Please don't die." 

Tim felt his emotions twist on him. His anger, his despair, was turning on him. He'd tried to weaponize those feelings and now they were aimed at him instead. It hurt. Like nothing he'd ever felt, Danny begging him to live to see himself become the villain, become a monster, something inhuman. It was, on the surface, the last thing that happened, but hadn't he thought in the beginning that he would do anything to get Danny back? Whatever the cost? Tim could feel himself stretching. His identity pulling apart from that bit of himself he had tucked away. A change so much bigger than the plastic lining the damaged or missing pieces of his body. Still subtle though. 

"Please." Danny begged softly, and Tim couldn't help but smile a little. 

"Not really my choice at the moment." Tim answered, then added a promise he might rather not have made. "...but I'll try not to." 

Danny sniffed and nuzzled into him a bit harder and Tim made a slightly pained noise in protest but Danny didn't move. They stayed like that for a while. Not as long as Tim had been left alone before that, but long enough that he got pins and needles in the arm around Danny's shoulder and the one supporting his weight had started trembling. Danny didn't move until Nikola swept into the room. 

"Oh! Hello boys!" she greeted

Danny was on his feet in an instant. "Where were you?!" he shouted. "Tim's been bleeding for hours!" 

Nikola tsk'd. "Now that's not my fault, is it? I've told you to take better care of your things." She sighed heavily, dramatically. "Well, not that I mind too much," her tone turned malicious "...healing him is always _fun_." 

Tim winced, but he kept silent. He'd promised he'd try not to die. Now, half sitting with his leg already twisted painfully but seated, it was tempting to fight her. To push her off him and force her to let him slowly bleed out. But he'd gone and promised. He huffed quietly to himself. Who'd ever thought trying not to die involved submitting to being fucked by a living mannequin he hated? He made no effort to move. No show of making it easier for her. He didn't fight either when she caught him by the shoulder and threw him down flat on his stomach. 

He'd have knocked his face against the floor again but at this angle the collar hit first, slamming back into his throat. Tim choked, the pain of impact blurring out the body-wide ache that had been clouding his mind for hours if not days. He couldn't breathe, couldn't pull air through his nose or mouth. It hurt, and frightened some primal part of him, and so for the first time he would take the plastic numbness over this. 

Before the numbness he had to withstand the intrusion. Before the intrusion he had to take her hands pulling at his hips, dragging him into a better position for her. Because her comfort was somehow what was important here. The thought was bitter but not so much that he resisted. 

The pain when she pushed into him distracted him briefly from the pain in his throat. The feeling that she was trying to rip him apart up the middle. A cry of pain caught behind the damage to his neck and he balled his hands into fists, leaning on his elbows and slamming one hand into the floor, again and again. The loud, echoing bangs was an almost sufficient distraction. Almost. 

With time, agonizing moments of thrust after thrust scraping just right as they stretched him again putting the whole experience right on that thin edge between pain and pleasure, the healing effect began to work. The throbbing wounds began to numb, and then, after too long, Tim was able to suck in a long breath of air. 

He was instantly lightheaded, and instantly overwhelmed. The rush of the oxygen high coupled with the stimulation, the almost pleasant pain. Two long breaths later he was finally able to cry out, and not with pain. At least, not pain alone. He didn't know when he'd so much as become aroused, much less why he'd been so close, but there was no denying or hiding the fact that he just came. It wasn't much - a little burst of semen now on the floor underneath him and the ensuing flood of humiliation. 

Nikola laughed and pulled out. "Well, look at that." She laughed again, and Tim cringed on the floor, folding his arms over his face, collapsed on his stomach and trying to ignore the numbness in his throat. On his back and abdomen. Even in his intact leg where he'd been twisting it at the knee. Only after Nikola added "I got him off before you did!" in that not quite mocking way of hers did Tim realize he was trembling. He hoped it was just rage. 

"Only because I was interrupted last time." Danny returned sharply, but there was something cowed in his tone. Something that sparked a whole new flare of anger in Tim, on his brother's behalf at Nikola. His hands were still curled into fists but he couldn't feel the points of pressure where his nails pressed into his palm anymore. That must have 'healed' too. 

"Hmm, if you say so." Nikola answered. He could hear her shifting and righting herself behind him. Slowly he turned, rolling again onto his side and looked back at her. She was just standing up when he got a look. "Now then," she began, and stepped back a little, stooping to lift - was that a trapdoor? That certainly explained a lot. "I have to get back to The Archivist. I told him I'd return soon - just checking on his assistant!" Then she was gone, dropped right through the trapdoor and somehow pulling the bit of floor back down after her. 

Danny was at his side again the instant she was gone, stroking, presumably, the design on his back as well as the one on his abdomen. "Need to clean you up to see it properly," he mumbled "But I think it's good. A bit messy but that's what clothes'll be for, right?" 

Tim snorted. "You're awful." he said, with far more affection than he'd intended. Danny laughed slightly and wrapped an arm around Tim's shoulders. Tim shook his head, but let himself lean on his brother. To take what comfort he could despite what had been done to him. Despite the pain and anger that he tucked carefully away so it wouldn't go out as he accepted Danny's embrace.

Maybe he would change. Maybe he would sacrifice himself in addition to the entire world to get his brother back. Hell if he wasn't going to get some revenge first though.


	5. Chapter 5

Tim had found a place to go when Nikola and Danny were gone. It was a place in his mind. An unbound place, as indescribable as the horrors he saw out the window. Sometimes as unsettling as he floated between thought and memory and the two merged together into the sort of monstrosities that could only come from dream logic. He sought comfort in them rather than running. 

He was brought back to the cold floor by the trapdoor, still bound to the floor by leg and neck, by the return of his captors. His brother and the mannequin. "Timmy!" Danny enthused suddenly, and Tim winced. He'd rather Nikola not pick up that particular nickname. "Tim, it's the day!" 

"I'm sorry?" he asked, lifting his head only slightly. The chain barely clanked.

"You're ready." Nikola clarified. "We're letting you off the leash, isn't that exciting?" 

It was. A thrill of anticipation went through him, but it was tempered by disbelief. He had no reason to expect a trick, they hadn't told him lies like this before. It just wouldn't surprise him. They'd cut him open, scarred and raped him for longer than he could measure in isolation. He didn't answer then, just rested his head on the floor again.

Danny's hand cupped the side of his face, gently lifting his head. Thumb rubbing against his cheek affectionately and Tim smiled a little. Now that his brother had skin, Tim preferred his touch to Nikola's. Greatly. Then there was a click. Something twisted and then popped under Tim's chin and Danny's hand guided him to sit. For the first time since the end of the world, to sit up completely.

Danny took a step back and Tim reached to examine what had happened. The shackle was still closed around his neck, but it had been disconnected from the chain a loop down. He couldn't feel how, three links of chain remained, and each still felt like a complete loop. Had it been so simple the entire time? Could he have escaped long ago if he'd just thought to...feel up his chain? 

Nikola approached, brandishing a key. There was a click as the key turned in the lock. A moment later the band around his intact leg was pulled off and the shackle around his neck dropped to the floor. Tim Stoker was _free._

He pulled his feet underneath him, and nearly overbalanced onto the fake one. He caught himself with that arm and winced, still sore through his entire body. Nikola took a pair of steps back as Tim gradually pushed himself up and stood for the first time since the world ended. 

Stood and stretched. Reached high above his head and and lifted, pulling at his shoulders, the numb streaks running through his back and stretching out his chest. Standing tall to pull the sloppy faces once carved into his abdomen taut. He lifted onto his toes and nearly overbalanced again. This time it was the plastic foot that saved him, shooting forward and catching his weight and allowing him to take his first step in this new world. 

"There we go," Nikola praised, and something sparked in Tim. Something he had, at this point, long ignored. He turned to look at her - and oh didn't that range of motion feel amazing? She was smiling. Of course she was smiling, and the bitter wave of frustration that washed over Tim was strangely reassuring. "Now, how does that feel?" 

"Feels good." Tim answered. "Feels...really good." He stretched his leg again. First the one that only had real muscles halfway down. He was surprised when he glanced down and noticed the plastic foot flexing naturally. The surprise faded quickly, because of course it did. The movement was uncanny, and twisted his stomach. So of course that's what it did. He shifted then, put his weight solidly on the plastic foot, lifted his opposite leg and stretched it. 

Long-tense muscles began to loosen, and Tim moaned. He settled his weight again and twisted at the waist. His abdomen felt strange turning like that. When he pushed so did his back. He turned the other way. Just as strange. Finally settled, he sighed heavily. Content. For the moment at least. Then Danny made an excited noise and practically leaped into his arms. "Welcome home, Timmy!" 

Tim laughed and embraced his brother, pulling him close and squeezing a little. "Yes, I suppose I am home." he answered. He pressed his nose to the other man's temple and breathed a moment. Danny turned to look at him, smiling widely. Unnaturally, even. Tim returned the smile, feeling his cheeks and jaw stretch in a way they possibly never had before. "Just one more thing," he said. Then, slowly, he disentangled himself from Danny.

For a moment, he looked at Nikola. Her expression was, as ever, unchangeable. It was easy to imagine that she looked proud; and utterly unwary. Tim glanced around. He saw the band first. Silver, and much longer than he'd expected. He saw the holes it had gone through, and the less recently used holes beside them where the band that'd been used to sever his leg had been. The flash of anger came back. He clung to it, and continued surveying the floor.

The shackle, loose from its chain and lying, free as Tim was now. Waiting for its new purpose. Tim bent at the waist and then the knees, stooping and crouching to pick it up. The knee of his intact leg cracked noisily and he could feel the cartilage putting pressure on the hard, numb plastic that had formed inside that joint. The shackle fit strangely comfortable in his palm, fingers curling around the little stump of remaining chain. Than he stood again and met Nikola's painted eyes.

They seemed to widen. Perhaps she'd read his intent. Perhaps she was having a very human reaction to him. To the rage that he pulled from the corner he'd tucked it into. The need for vengeance that had gone unsatisfied, the years of anger and helplessness that this...thing...had done nothing but make so much worse. Tim took in the longest breath he could through his nose, feeling the plastic there too, the limitation, how his lungs only half-filled. He spat out the breath with her name. "Orsinov." 

"Yes?" She looked at him.

"Fuck you." 

He raised the shackle. The heavy, bright red ring of two-inch thick metal, and lifted it across his chest, only about to the height of his shoulder. She really ought to have backed away, but she didn't. She was still looking at him, her expression still unchanged except for the subtle, impossible widening of her eyes. Then he brought the metal that had spent so long around his neck down across her face.

Her head snapped to the side and her leg buckled. He lifted the shackle again and brought it straight down on her head. She collapsed again. Somewhere off to one side, Danny screamed. Tim didn't stop. He dropped to one knee and struck her, again in the head. And again as Danny shouted "Tim, stop!" And again as she lifted her arms to try to catch his falling arm and found she lacked the strength. And again, bringing the heavy loop down on her throat with enough force that the plastic cracked and what looked like human blood began to pool under her head. 

He brought it down again, this time on her shoulder, and again more centrally on her chest. He heard Danny coming, felt his hand curl around his elbow to try to stop his arm. Tim bent his elbow hard and rolled his shoulder, pushing off Danny's touch. He brought the shackle down again on Nikola's broken head, and pieces chipped off and flew free. 

Again, and again, and again, until he stopped. Stopped to breathe. Pull a shaking breath in through his mouth and fill his lungs, before pushing it out his nose over the sound of Danny's pleas for him to stop. The hand on his shoulder now, not pulling. Not trying to stop him, not really. A token protest, most likely. One that filled him with all the more rage at the thing underneath him. What had she done? What had she done to his brother that made him like this? 

He hit her again, only dimly aware of his own brutality. He shouted with the last of that long breath and continued. She was still. Lifeless, but then, she'd always been lifeless. He kept going to make sure. He kept going to release the last of it. All that anger, all that humanity he'd kept tucked away. It bled out of him as quickly as the blood from pieces she'd stolen from her victims bled out of Nikola.

Only when all that was left were shards of plastic and a puddle of blood, when the shackle was slamming into the ground instead of a crumbling body did Tim stop, and start to breathe normally again. Moments ticked by, and then slowly, Tim got to his feet again. He stood there, looking down. Then he started to turn. He couldn't process his own thoughts, his own emotions. That didn't matter though. 

Nikola was gone. And Danny…

Danny took a step back when Tim turned around. Then another, eyes flicking from Tim's face to the shackle in his hand. Then back to his face, expression wide, terrified, pleading. "Tim-" Danny said softly, frightened. A little thrill of vindication went through him, and he smiled. He could feel it now, how unnaturally the smile sat on his face. Wide, baring teeth in a way he never had when he gave small, human smiles with only flashes of perfect white. "Tim..." Danny said again. "No..."

"Why not?" Tim demanded, even though he would never. "After what you did to me? What you made me? Why not?" His voice was hard, and low, and growling. If he hadn't felt more monster than man already he did now, now that he could hear it. 

Danny didn't answer the question. He only backed away, scrambled back and back until he was pressed to the tall window. Tim hadn't realized he'd been approaching. Following. Danny leaned into the window and Tim looked behind him. Looked past his brother to the chaos below. 

A woman held something tight to her chest as she half-jogged down the street, saw something that wasn’t there around the corner and turned on her heel the walk the other way. Nothing came from around the corner. A bit away, a pair of nearly identical strangers traced each other's bizarre facial scars with trembling hands. A crying child played hop-scotch, scooping up the large snail that sat on the number eight and completing her hopping. Then she glitched back to the beginning, and the snail continued its crawl across the chalk number as the child started again. 

Tim looked at Danny again. They were both trembling now, but only Danny from fear. Or maybe it was fear that Tim felt. Fear of himself. Fear at the utter lack of revulsion he felt from those and countless other wrong, uncanny scenes of terrified people trying to survive this wrong, uncanny world. Fear at the blood on his knuckles from crushing Nikola, and the lack of remorse in his heart at having taken a life. Even one as wrong and uncanny as hers. Fear at the temptation to do the same to his brother. Maybe that was why Tim uncurled his fingers and dropped the shackle at his side. 

Maybe. He didn't know, couldn't know. He'd let go of too much too fast and now there was nothing left. The numbness from the stretches of skin, from his nose and his knee and his missing leg, had seeped into his soul. If he even had a soul anymore. When Danny breathed a sigh of relief it was definitely fear that caught Tim then. Fear of the numbness. 

He met Danny's eyes and closed the space between them. Danny startled and pressed his shoulders into the window and Tim didn't care. He caught the other man by the hip and tugged him a little forward. Rested his other, trembling hand on Danny's face and leaned in. Lips connected first. Then bodies as Tim pressed himself against Danny, pinning and pulling at him and kissing him hard as he could.

It was only after a few moments that Danny kissed back. 

Tim pulled away not much after that. First breaking the kiss and then leaning back to look at Danny, at his patchwork skin and tiny stitches. Then he took a step back and dropped his hand from Danny's hip, instead taking his brothers hand in his and smiling at him. It felt more natural now, though still wide, still threatening, still uncanny. 

"Show me around?"


End file.
